The One Without Structure
by greenish orange
Summary: [Complete] Chandler's finally tired of them, of their unfathomable ways. CJ.


**A/N: **I blame three catalysts for this story: my friends, myself, and season six, even though this takes place in season three. I've been doing a lot of experimenting lately, couple-wise, and as the Chandler/Joey friendship is just about one of the best things out there, I decided, hey, why not take it to the next level? I hope you enjoy.

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Chandler knew he was in a closet. He knew he was in a closet, in a room, in a building. He knew he had engulfed all of Monica's special Jell-O shots, was completely wasted, and was fooling around with a girl whose name _definitely _began with Mary, Mary Something, and whose definite relation to Joey would get his ass kicked twice over. But it was okay, completely okay, because Janice was out of his life forever, she was never coming back, and that was a reason to celebrate, even if it did feel like a knife twisting in his gut. Hadn't everyone said to him, 'Chandler, get over it'? Hadn't they? Hadn't they? Hadn't they managed to tattoo that onto his mentality, so that he wouldn't mope around in his sweatpants, eating dried fruit and camping out at Monica and Rachel's, just because it maintained a strong sense of structure he lacked in every other nook and cranny of his life?

There was something wrong with him, or maybe it was her, because whenever he came up for air it was like a tangled mass of hair just _appeared _out of the blue and, amazingly – _swallowed up_ her head; the hair, he managed to inhale, by no fault of his own, and he was now retching up as she waited patiently by the old dustpan and broom he and Joey joked had been there for so long it had begun to take on its own personality. God, did she have big hair. It was like the eighties all over again, but without all the hyped-up high school pizzazz, and without his Flock-of-Seagulls hairdo and turquoise track suit he truly believed was his color. Her makeup was everywhere – on her, on him, on her clothing, on his – and it all just felt like it wasn't worth it, because, let's face it, he was planning on wearing this shirt tomorrow, and he didn't want to waste a rinse cycle on a small, but very noticeable, lipstick stain on his collar.

There was a loud knocking noise at the closet door, and Mary Something giggled and hid behind him, clutching at the sleeve of his t-shirt. Her hair tickled the back of his neck. Maybe it _was _the eighties, after all. Hadn't he gone through this all before?

Chandler laughed at his confusion. If _only _it was high school again, so he could figure out what he'd done to drive away the sane women and attract the big-haired, makeup-wielding, nasal-y-voiced ones with too much love too quickly. They were all Janices, with their high-pitched laughter and long, fake fingernails that clicked on tables impatiently; clothing galore, with shoes to match; expectation, expectation, when there was no more to give; and that baffling telepathic language of theirs that they expected men to understand, but men never did, because it was all just pursed lips and 'tsk-ing' and the dreaded cold shoulder that signaled the beginning of the end for every kind of relationship.

The knocking continued and he shuddered, repulsed, as Mary Something seductively trailed her finger up his arm. There was a voice from outside. "Dude, I know you're in there, now get out!"

Chandler obediently opened the door; Mary Something giggled madly. "Hey, it's Joey!" he slurred. "It's my pal, Joe Trib, the ac-ttor-er, who can play both man . . . _and_ woman!"

"How hammered _are_ you?" Joey asked him in disgust. Chandler simply shrugged in response.

"I'm hammered like a nail, if that's whatcha mean," he replied. "I'm like one of thos-e n-nails that are hammered li-ke a nail."

"What the hell are you doing with my sister?" Joey asked him fiercely. Mary Something ducked out of harm's way and dispersed into the crowd. Chandler tried to focus.

"I k-know what you're thinkin', Joe, and I don't think the idea is good to be talking about it now."

Joey glared at him and crossed his arms.

"List-en." Chandler leaned forward secretively. "We're bestest buds, man, we're _tight_, you know, a-nnd I really, really don't wanna get in trouble, so please don't tell Joey, okay, bec-aause that would m-make him super – duper – _super_ pissed."

Joey regarded him angrily for a moment, then seemed to relent. "That's it. You need to lay down, man. I'll get Monica – she'll probably let you sleep on her couch –"

Chandler grinned goofily at him. "No, no, not Mon, you and me, man. Gay puppets for life. I'll even letcha lick the spoons."

"C'mere," said Joey. He stood next to Chandler for support, and hoisted him upright. Chandler's head lolled on his shoulder.

"You smell good," Chandler murmured.

Joey rolled his eyes. "D'you come on to _everyone _when you're wasted?"

"Wasn't like I wanted to," Chandler slurred. "Wasn't like I awoke up t-hiis morning an' wanted to waste myse-llf silly, y'know. Just couldn't _handle_ it'all, even if 'tis the smack-dab middle part of my first name."

"What?"

"Y'know! C_handle_r?" At Joey's puzzled expression, Chandler closed his eyes. "S'okay, Joe."

Joey looked at him sternly. "Then why'd you do it?"

"D'what?" Chandler asked bemusedly, swaying dangerously. Joey tightened his hold on his shoulders.

"Get wasted. Why'd you do it?"

"Dunno," Chandler replied. "Something to do wii-th all the pressure. Like – like – it wasn't all good, y'know, like it had been. Like, everr-ything was sp-pining out of control and was like, whoa, stop 'efore it's too late, y'know?"

"Janice?"

Chandler stopped short.

"You got wasted because of Janice?" Joey cried. "What were you _thinking_?"

"N-ot much, obviou-viously," Chandler snipped, his sarcasm reviving. "She was my – my la-st chance, and I blew it, man, I blew it."

"Janice wasn't your last chance!" Joey objected.

"S'was!" Chandler cried pitifully. He wrenched himself away from Joey and turn on his heel to meet him face-to-face. "S'was my _safety net_!"

"You were too good for her, man," Joey told him. "She cheated on _you_, okay? And after everything you had done for her, she went back to that mattress guy! How can she be your safety net if she was too stupid to realize that?"

"Joe –"

"I'm serious," Joey said firmly. "You're way too good for her, Chandler."

Chandler stared at him for a long moment. "Wish 'twas that easy."

"How can you possibly think that _Janice _was your last chance?" Joey asked in disbelief. "I mean, just look around you, man, there're so many people out there that you could be happy with. Look at your friends! Look at Monica, or Rachel!"

"I don't – I jus' don't thi-ink so," Chandler replied despondently. "With women, it's just all th-iis – this complication that nobody really _gets_. An-d whatever you say is calling them fat, or ugly, an' I don't mean it, e-ver, I just wanna know why they don't know it themselves." He peered thoughtfully at Joey. "I'm jus' sick of them, man, and I didn't mean to get all caug-hht up in it, man, but I just reali-zized, and your sister –"

Joey inhaled deeply. "Look, I'm not going to lie and say I'm happy about you messing around with my sister, because I'm not, but we've all been there, and . . . I love you, man, I know you'd never do this if you weren't completely wasted."

Chandler laid his hand on Joey's shoulder. "Really means a lot, Joe, really does."

"Then will you stop?"

"Stop?"

"Stop all this crap about _never finding anyone_, and everything like that. Stop getting wasted. Stop pining over a woman so annoying I want to scrape out my eardrums whenever she laughs. Can you do that?"

Chandler peered at him thoughtfully. "I think I – I thi-ink I can."

"Good," Joey said, smiling.

"Sorry, man," Chandler said quietly, fixing his eyes on Joey's face with unusual intensity. "Didn't mean it to tu-urn out s'way."

"Hey, as long as you're okay."

Chandler closed his eyes. "If only women underst-tood, then everything would be _good,_ y'know, _perfect,_ an' none of this would've been such a big deal."

"Yeah."

"I mean, sometimes it doesn' even feel _worth it_ anymore – 'just wanna fuck my life an' start over, differ-erently . . . maybe the proble-em isn't even with _me, _maybe. Maybe it's with _them _for once. Maybe I need to l-look – look – somewhere else."

Joey shrugged noncommittally.

Chandler cast his eyes across Joey's face. "The world would be a better plaa-ce, man, if women were more – m-more like you. You _get_ me. An' it's not compl-cacated like with Janice, 'cause you jus' accept things for just h-how they are. You don' read into stuff like it means more than what it is." He moved closer to Joey, so that their noses were inches apart. "With you, man, it's so much easier."

Joey looked at him, into his vividly blue eyes, and shivered involuntarily. "Listen –"

"Why not?" Chandler slurred, smiling at Joey in a lopsided way that made his heart flip-flop pathetically. "There mus' be a reason why we're so unl-lucky with relation-sships, right? There's always a reason, Joey, an', maybe, just maybe, this's it."

"Think about what you're saying, man, I mean –"

"I know what I mean," Chandler said softly.

Joey looked frantic. "I don't think you do, Chandler, you're asking – it's not – I –"

"What're you 'fraid of?"

Joey's breath hitched in his chest, and he stared at Chandler at a loss for words. "I – I don't know."

Chandler moved closer. Joey could smell the alcohol on his breath, could hear his own heart pounding; he licked his lips nervously, watched him with wide eyes, but didn't back away. Chandler leaned forward and tentatively brushed his lips against the side of his mouth, Joey leaned into him, and reassured, Chandler gently framed his face and captured his lips without resistance.

Chandler – he could trust Chandler. Of course he could trust Chandler. He would always trust Chandler. Joey closed his eyes, closed his mind, and allowed himself to fall.


End file.
